


Your Own

by itsyaboycole (colefallow)



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Coming Out, Drunken Confessions, Eventual Smut, IKEA Furniture, Loneliness, M/M, Panic Attacks, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-05 20:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17331560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colefallow/pseuds/itsyaboycole
Summary: You can only be strong if you are sometimes allowed to be weak.  With alcohol.  Eventual smut.





	1. one

Why was it so loud?

Simon swiveled in his seat, and took several beats longer than normal to adjust to the new view.

Jayne was enthralled, strangely enough, in a conversation instead of a bar brawl.  Somehow he still managed to be exactly as loud as the brawls normally were.  Inara was quietly observing the brute from a corner booth, amused until her client arrived.  She always glowed.  Shepherd was sat at the same booth, a glass of clear liquid between his fingers and a contented look upon his face.  It was not water.

Zoe and Wash were huddled together further down the bar, drinks forgotten, a sight on the verge of obscene.  Simon took a deep pull of the dark liquid in his glass.

River was having a good day.  A long stretch of them, actually.  This was highlighted by the fact that she had apparently befriended a small group of women in the dim bar, whom she was now teaching a smattering of dances.

No Kaylee in sight.  No Mal.

Only one of those was his fault.

He took another long drink before wagging a finger at the barkeep for a refill.

“Havin’ a good night there, Doc?”

Simon thought he might have jumped out of his own skin when the Captain’s hand clapped to his shoulder.

“Still a might jumpy,” he laughed before taking the seat next to the Doctor and ordering a drink of his own.

“Men on the run from the law tend to be,” Simon uttered in what he thought was a hushed tone until the barkeep grunted his agreement.  That was his stock excuse, but not the primary reason for tonight’s edginess.  Simon tried to stop the room from swaying by staring at the shelf of liquor behind the bar. He gave up and drained his glass.

“Well, friends ain’t in short supply here, we’re in no danger,” the Captain assured.  He was so confident.  Simon squinted at his handsome features and hiccuped.

He needed another refill.

Mal made no moves to stop him from obtaining one.

“Where’s Kaylee?” Mal finally asked, because of course he had to.

“As far away from me as she can get on this planet, I’d wager,” Simon half-slurred as he reached for his drink yet again.  It had a way of magically refilling when he needed it most.

“’S a moon,” Mal gingerly sipped his fresh drink, “can’t get too far.”  The click of glass against the bartop pulled Simon’s eyes upward again.  Didn’t realize he’d been staring at the larger man’s work-worn hands.

“What’d you do this time?”

Why did he have to ask?

“I was honest,” Simon tilted his glass dangerously in the Captain’s direction, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.  It was only half of the story but he didn’t care to share the rest.

The Captain’s lingering smile grew.  He attempted to hide it at the Doctor’s scowl.

“Sounds a dangerous predicament, with a woman like that.  She forgives easy though.”

Simon blinked at the bartop.  Almost disarmed by the Captain’s encouraging words.  “Not something that needs to be forgiven, unfortunately.”

Mal looked thrown off by that.  But he’d had a good day, so he continued.

“Dare I ask?”

“You might,” Simon polished off yet another drink and realized he had absolutely no idea how many he’d had.

Mal only laughed and finished his own drink.  Gave the Doctor a long, contemplative look.  Simon didn’t like the scrutiny he felt he was under.  But the Captain didn’t ask. Only watched.

“I told her,” the words finally bubbled from his lips, no longer able to contain them.  The secret felt like a wild animal that had been clawing at the cage of his ribs for years, and now that it had broken free, he didn’t care to recapture it.

Maybe it didn’t matter here.  There was no longer a facade to maintain.  No family name to dirty.  He’d already dragged it through the filth.

“That so,” Mal said matter-of-factly, though his quirked brow made clear he didn’t intend to make any assumptions.  He was going to make Simon say it.  Of course he was.

“She knew, I think,” Simon continued, avoiding the inevitable.  Both of Mal’s brows were now reaching for his hairline.  “But I made it real.  I said it out loud.  She didn’t want to hear.”

“Think you been spending too much time with your sister,” Mal smiled, but his tone was kind. Understanding.  It was easy for Simon to forget how warm the Captain could be.  It was so seldom directed his way.  But the older man only softened when someone needed it.  And Simon had been so set on being strong for River…he didn’t have any left for himself.

Mal waved off the barkeep when he tried to refill Simon’s glass.  Simon licked his lips and swayed in his seat.  Screwed up his face in thought.

“Did I ruin everything?”

The thread he was dangling from was practically audible in his voice, taught and ready to snap.

“Could be.” Mal tapped his glass against the bartop.  Simon stared at the reflections the thick glass threw.  “But if there weren’t room for the truth, it couldn’t be too much of a loss.”

His eyes burned and threatened to spill over.  But they stayed locked on the larger man’s mouth.  It held more wisdom than he liked to let on.

“I need to…” the younger man clutched at his empty glass, then the edge of the bartop, then smoothed his hands over the sweater he wore that once was heavy and pristine and now was threadbare and mothbitten.  The Captain slid carefully off his stool and stepped in close.  Simon could feel his heartbeat crawling up his throat.

“Home?” Mal asked without pretense. A tear finally slid over Simon’s cheek as he stared up into those blue eyes.

It  _was_.


	2. two

The stumble back to the ship was entirely Simon's fault. But he didn't mind so much. He wasn't sure about Mal, though.

Every time he tripped, or swayed, or slowed, Mal tucked his arm low around Simon's middle and righted his pace. Simon didn't realize he had two fistfuls of Mal's shirt and suspenders until he nearly landed flat on his own face. Once more, Mal planted his palm on Simon's chest, and they carried on.

Mal was so solid, and warm...

Simon was surprised when the Captain finally led them onto the ship, that his first stop was the infirmary. In his current state, he was fairly certain he would have rather been anywhere else. Mal left the drunk leaning on the doorframe while he rifled through a cabinet. Simon was tired, but not too tired to try to keep his infirmary in order.

“Please...just...what are you looking for?” Simon slurred as he made his way to lean on the counter, but thought better of it. The ship spun around him in spite of the fact that it sat upon solid ground.

Mal tossed a smile over his shoulder and continued his search before he finally shook a bottle of pills in triumph. “Your best friend in the mornin', Doc.”

Simon felt his brows gather as he realized how true the statement was, and pocketed the painkillers when Mal handed them over. They loitered there, maybe too long – standing in the doorway facing one another, one slumped and one rigid. Simon felt a different kind of knot in his stomach.

The Captain was so strong...and broad...and-

And slinging the smaller man over his shoulder.

“What-what the hell are you-” Simon fought, briefly, pushing his hands at the other man's back until he finally settled on clutching the Captain's belt and pushing himself up. Mal let him fight, and continued on his way up to Simon's room.

Simon landed on his bed when Mal slung him down like a sack of potatoes, arms splayed out and hair messed up as he stared wide-eyed.

He couldn't be alone. Not now.

“Do you know what I told her?” he asked, and in that moment he was certain that he would have said absolutely anything to make the Captain stay.

“Reckoned you'd tell me if the mood struck,” Mal said as he made quick work of the laces on Simon's combat boots. Something he never would have worn before...

Was he uninterested? Or was he just being Mal, maintaining boundaries and being selectively respectful of the ones he felt in most danger of collapsing?

“I'll tell you,” Simon struggled to prop himself up on his elbows as Mal tossed his boots to the floor. He didn't fully register that Mal had moved on to the laces of his own boots.

“But promise you won't tell anyone.”

Mal looked hesitant. Like he knew it was something he didn't want to be trusted with. But Simon had never felt so alone, so desperate to pull someone into his orbit. And whether he liked it or not, the Captain was a good man. Trustworthy. At least with this. Maybe he'd even picked up some oddly worldly wisdom, as he seemed to with most things...

“Go on then.” Mal sat on the end of the bed and removed his boots, the swirl of motion momentarily distracting the drunk. The promise was implied.

“I led her on,” Simon finally choked out. Ground his teeth together. Grit them against the chilly air, the man that wouldn't meet his eye. He opened his mouth to continue, but-

“'Cause you're sly,” Mal supplied easily. Like it wasn't something that had been eating at the younger man, destroying him on the inside since he was old enough to figure out exactly why he'd been so jealous of his childhood best friend's girlfriend. Like it wasn't a deviation from the norm, like his parents wouldn't have been heartbroken to know he couldn't carry on the family legacy. Like he wouldn't have been disowned for that alone, if not for everything else. Like his only experiences hadn't been secretive, shadowy, shameful.

Simon only knew his tears were falling again because of the look in Mal's eyes. Finally upon him. He didn't look away.

“She made things feel normal.”

It was feeble. It was selfish. It was all he'd been holding onto, aside from River.

He wondered where that left him.

Mal sighed.

“Weren't your finest moment, Doc,” Mal said as he hauled a chair to the corner of the room. Simon blinked at him.

“No,” he agreed as he picked at a hole in his sweater, “I suspect I've used all of those up.”

Mal tried to hide a smile behind the blanket he was shaking out. He didn't disagree. The bed felt cold, felt empty.

The blanket drifted down over Simon's rumpled form. “Just say it.”

“What's that?” the Captain asked, busied with tucking the blanket in and shoving old flattened pillows behind Simon's head. He could smell the alcohol on his own breath as it bounced off the other man's chest. He still wasn't close enough.

“Tell me I'm a terrible person,” Simon quietly obeyed as Mal tugged him to lay on his side, a small trash bin within reach. “Tell me I deserve every ounce of suffering I get.”

All good humor left the Captain's demeanor, and he withdrew enough to stare down at the drunken Doctor, hands propped along his head. Simon's throat felt dry. But he still didn't look away.

“Ain't a soul that deserves it less.” His tone was firm, left no room for argument. Simon looked for something in his eyes that he desperately wanted to see. Mal smoothed Simon's hair away from his face and he felt like he was on fire.

“Get some rest,” it was an order. Mal retreated, too soon, to the chair in the corner. Crossed his ankles, crossed his arms, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes – lead by example.

But he didn't leave.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning was exactly as excruciating as he'd suspected it would be. The painkillers and trash bin Mal had left behind both came in handy.

Once Simon finally gathered himself enough to climb out of bed, he tucked his freezing fingers inside the sleeves of his sweater and fumbled his way to the mess. Jayne was there, feet propped on the table, doing the only thing more surprising than what he had last night – reading a book.

“You can read?” He couldn't help the taunt falling from his mouth, not with how foggy his head was. Shepherd chuckled from his spot in the nook.

Kaylee raised her head though, and he immediately felt his stomach burrow through his body and into the deck plate at not noticing her sooner. Her jaw tightened and she went back to her tablet before he could say anything stupid.

Jayne only gave him a rude gesture. “Inara says there's sex in it.”

“Man's got his priorities,” Mal chimed in as he returned from the kitchen with what smelled like coffee. He slapped Jayne's feet off the table before settling in his usual spot. Jayne grumbled and wandered off, nose still firmly planted in his book.

“Is there any more of that..?” Simon asked sheepishly. His fingers flexed and clutched around fistfuls of his sleeves to staunch his clammy palms. He felt like a teenager in the worst way.

“Porn or coffee?” Mal answered without missing a beat. He looked dead exhausted from his night spent in a rigid metal chair comforting his neurotic medic; Simon was just glad he was still in high spirits from their successful job, even if his words made the younger man roll his eyes. Kaylee just glared at Mal.

“Coffee's on the counter, porn's on the cortex,” Mal casually continued as he sipped his steaming cup and entirely ignored the daggers being looked at him by his mechanic. Simon shook his head as he went to get his own cup, Shepherd muttering something about heathens in the background.

He busied himself with finding a mug, and tried not to think about the fact that he had absolutely no idea what to say to the person he'd been closest to on the ship besides River.

He was right. He'd ruined everything.

With a huff and a slam of her chair against the table, Kaylee was gone, headed to the engine room. Another, heavier slam followed, no doubt the engine room door. Simon winced at every sound, but agreed that the pain was deserved.

“Seems you've gone and made a habit of upsetting her,” Shepherd chided, and even though Simon very deeply despised himself for all the pain he'd caused her, the words stood his hackles on end.

“Yes, well, I'm sure that it won't be the last time. Clearly I'm full of ways to disappoint.”

Shepherd said nothing, only frowned. Simon could _feel_ Mal's eyes boring into him as he sipped his coffee.

“We're going to be late!” River slipped into the room and went straight for Mal. He put on a tight smile. Simon tried to pretend he wasn't disappointed that the Captain's attention had been pulled elsewhere.

“Just a bit, meimei. You'll be back to your adoring fans before you know it.”

Simon looked around, thoroughly confused and blessedly distracted from his own self loathing. “Fans?”

“Little lady made some friends last night, wanted her to throw together a dance class today for the local kids. Extra coin can't hurt.”

River swept down in a deep bow before exploding in a fit of giggles. Simon couldn't help catching her excitement with a slow smile.

“Is someone planning to...” he didn't finish the question, just gave Mal a significant look. The Captain nodded confidently, as he always did, and Simon hated that such a simple gesture could entirely calm his nerves.

“Zoe's gonna run as her TA. Should be interesting.”

Simon tried to imagine Zoe dancing, but suspected the continued effort would cause an aneurysm.

“Everyone else has a job today before we head out, though, so best be on our ways.”

Mal rinsed his mug and waited by the sink until River and Book filed out, River chattering away about the physics behind ballet. Simon mulled over his coffee a while longer, though, staring at the Captain from his spot against the counter.

He didn't expect things to be so...normal. Not after last night.

“Need you to put together a supply list, ain't often I got the coin to restock the infirmary and do it proper.”

Simon nodded. Let his mind run on auto pilot for the moment. “I don't think I need too much. Some weaves, antiseptic...just basics.” He cocked his head after that, ignoring the dull throb in his skull and the churn of his stomach. Waited for what Mal clearly wanted to say. The Captain cleared his throat.

“She didn't say nothin'. Not to nobody,” Mal folded his arms as he often did when he was feeling Serious. Simon was touched that the Captain was so adamant that he knew. He picked at the flaking enamel of his mug while he tried to find words, but it was harder than he expected.

“Thank you...for telling me. And for- for not...” Simon pressed his tongue against his top lip and found himself unable to meet Mal's eye. But he didn't need to, Mal simply grunted his response, unfolded himself, and brushed past on his way to the cockpit.

Simon tried to swallow down his nerves, but could do nothing for his racing pulse.


	4. Chapter 4

Slowly, Simon had plucked through his cabinets, his boxes, the various first aid kits scattered around the ship, and assembled a surprisingly short list of supplies he needed. Ariel hadn't been long enough ago for them to have depleted their supplies too significantly, and Simon wasn't fool enough not to notice that he was being given an easy task on purpose. Mal was worried, in his own way.

But now everyone was planetside – or moonside – and he was alone, in his infirmary, trying not to feel as exquisitely lonely as he had the last few days.

Or at least he thought he was, until he heard something heavy crash onto the floor just outside the infirmary. Instinctively he ran to the noise, only to come to a screeching halt when he saw the Captain on his knees in front of a...box?

“What's this?” Simon made sure not to let on how relieved he was that he wasn't alone.

Mal pried and sliced at stubborn cardboard with his knife. “Said you wanted a desk!”

He sounded maybe too pleased with himself. Simon tilted his head to inspect the box's graphic. It actually looked nice.

“Yes, about...two months ago, in passing,” Simon muttered while he tried and failed to keep a smile off his face. He already knew that the instant the thing was built, River would be taking it over anyway.

“Well, 's here now,” Mal busied himself with laying out each numbered piece in order. Bags of screws and fasteners and drawer pulls soon littered the floor of the common area, and Simon quietly cleared a spot for himself amongst the clutter while Mal glared at the guide. He didn't know if the Captain wanted help, but he knew he had nothing better to do.

“Is that...the side piece?”

Simon tilted his head sideways as he inspected the manual over Mal's shoulder. “I think...I think it's the top?”

Mal flipped the whole manual upside down in his hands and swore. Simon pulled his sweater sleeve down over his fingers and casually leaned his chin on it to hide his own smirk. Mal flipped the manual a second time.

“ _Tian di wu yohn_ guide...”

Simon cleared his throat to mask a chuckle. “Aren't the pieces numbered?” He picked up a bag of screws and turned it over in his hands, but Mal snatched it away just as quickly.

“Wait, wait, I think I got it,” Mal balanced the manual on his thigh, a long flat board in one hand, a bag of fasteners in the other, and part of the desk top on his knee. Simon's brows furrowed, and he abandoned all hope of helping the Captain. He was clearly beyond that point already.

They worked in relative silence, Simon's only contributions being to occasionally hand Mal a piece, or a tool, or the manual after he'd misplaced it for the fifth time. It felt a little bit like when the Captain had to play his nurse – only with a much lighter, more companionable silence.

Once the desk started taking shape, Mal finally handed over the pieces to a drawer, something for Simon to assemble all on his lonesome. He had to bite back the urge to make a snarky comment about whether he could be trusted to do it correctly. Mal gathered the pieces to a second drawer and began to assemble that. But Simon was distracted.

“Thank you,” he said it quietly, nearly trailing off entirely. Mal glanced up from his work only briefly, but the look he gave the younger man made goosebumps spread over his flesh.

“Wasn't too hard to find one,” and he was speaking of the desk, because of course Mal would avoid what Simon had really meant. He nodded once, let his eyes slip over Mal's broad chest and button-down, and tried not to feel disappointed.

“You remembered, though,” a little louder, a little more uncertain. He tried to catch the Captain's gaze. “That kind of thing doesn't go unnoticed.”

“Yeah, well,” Mal flipped over the piece he was working on to finish attaching the handle, “just my way of avoidin' a mutiny.”

Simon thought of Jayne's book. He smiled.

“Consider my bloodlust sated for the day,” he murmured as he went back to the drawer. Mal handed him the screwdriver, and he tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was both literally and figuratively building a place for himself.


End file.
